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CHAPTER FOUR
BY EVENING the rain had ended, leaving the sky over Manhattan a surprisingly tender blue. A soft breeze, redolent of the newly budding trees in the little park behind Samantha’s apartment, teased lightly at the curtains in her bedroom as she packed.
Packed? Sam looked at the open suitcase on her bed and the things inside it. Nobody could call some underwear, a couple of pairs of cotton slacks and a handful of T-shirts “packing,” not if you were going to be out of the country for four months.
Four long, endless months.
She sighed, sank down on the edge of the mattress and leaned back on her elbows. She’d wasted the last few hours pacing her small apartment. Now time was running out, not just for packing but for deciding if she’d made a mistake in accepting Demetrios’s challenge. That was what it had been; why pretend otherwise? Can you work beside me for all that time without tumbling into my bed? He hadn’t said that, of course, but that was the message.
As for what else he’d said, about not having to buy women... Of course he didn’t buy them. He didn’t have to. Women took one look at Demetrios Karas and wanted him. She’d wanted him, Sam thought with disgust. Hadn’t she almost slept with the man within minutes of first seeing him? Now, somehow, he’d maneuvered her into saying yes, she’d work for him, she’d go to Greece with him, spend days and nights at his side...
Maneuvered her into it? Sam got up, grabbed an armload of blouses from the closet and slung them onto the bed.
His “maneuvering” had been done with all the delicacy

of a waltzing elephant. The man had made her a job offer only an idiot would refuse. She knew there were people who assumed she didn’t have to worry about supporting herself because she was Jonas Baron’s stepdaughter. The truth was, Jonas would have gladly supplemented her income, if she simply asked, but Sam had always cherished her independence.
She made her own way in the world, the same as she never backed away from anything difficult, and so far, things had gone well. She was a long way from getting rich but she paid her bills. And she’d never done anything truly crazy, either, well, except for things like bungee jumping off a bridge in Australia or swimming with sharks off the Seven Sacred Pools in Maui...
And saying yes, she’d go to Greece with a stranger. “Hell,” she muttered, and grabbed for the phone. The
only thing worse than making a bad decision was not admitting it. Yes, Demetrios had offered her a lot of money and yes, she certainly could use it, but she’d survived dry spells before.
It’s Samantha Brewster, she’d say politely. Something’s come up, Mr. Karas. I afraid i’ll have to forego your job offer.
At least, she’d tell him that once she knew where to reach him.
Sam sat down, hit a speed-dial button, crossed her legs and swung her foot impatiently as Anianda’s answering machine picked up.
We’re sorry, her sister’s voice said cheerfully, but we can’t take your call just— “Amanda? Amanda, can you hear me? I know you’rethere. And this is as much your fault as anybody’s. Pick up the—”
“Sam? ‘What’s the matter?”.
“Nothing. Everything.” Sam took a deep breath. There really wasn’t any point in letting out her anger on her sister. She was the one who’d accepted the job offer, not .Amanda.
“Do you know how to reach Demetrios Karas? Is he at a hotel, or does lie have an apartment in the city?”
“Because I need to talk to him, and he very conveniently didn’t give me his number.”
“Well—”
Sam’s good intentions flew out the window. “dammit, will you stop saying that?”
“Well—I mean, why are you so upset?”
“Why do you meddle in my life?”
“Don’t answer one question with another,” Amanda said primly. “Besides, I don’t meddle.”
“You do. You almost stood on your head to get me to meet this—this Greek God.”
“I take it,” Amanda said, muffling a snort of laughter, “that you’re referring to Demetrios.”
“Yes, Demetrios. Unless you know some other man who thinks he’s the walking, talking reincarnation of—of Adonis.”
A gusty sigh came over the phone line. “I thought you liked him.”
“What gave you that impression? His cockeyed story, about how he insulted me at Carin’s party?”
“Well, yes. I mean, that’s what happened, isn’t it? You met, he was called away, you got annoyed and you left.”
“Do you honestly think I’m that self-centered?” Sam said, before she could think.
“Well...” Amanda cleared her throat. “Sorry. Uh, no. I don’t think you’re self-centered at all. Actually—actually, I have to admit, I had the feeling there was more to it than that. I even said so to Nick, and Nick said, well, maybe there was, because he’d seen Demetrios later that same evening...” Her words trailed to silence.
“And?” Sam said sharply. “What did Nick tell you?” Had her brother-in-law seen through the afternoon’s charade? Had he figured out that she was the woman in the stable with Demetrios?
“Nothing. That was all of it. Nick sort of broke off in the middle of a sentence and changed the subject.”
Sam felt a sudden pounding in her temple. She walked into the bathroom, yanked open the medicine cabinet ‘and took out a bottle of aspirin.
“Sam?”
“Mmn?”
“You haven’t answered my question. Was there more to it than Demetrios told us at lunch? Did something happen that night at Carin’s?”
“Come on, sis. Remember when we were kids? I could always tell when you were lying.”
Sam jammed the portable phone between her ear and her shoulder, opened the bottle and dumped two aspirin into her palm, then into her mouth. She made a face, added one more tablet for good measure, and swallowed hard.
“Yeah, but we’re not kids anymore.”
“It doesn’t matter. I can still tell. You and Demetrios did meet that night, didn’t you? The story wasn’t quite as simple as he made it sound.”
Wearily, Sam sank down on the edge of the tub. There was no sense fighting both her sister’s instincts and the crazed musician who’d set up his drums inside her skull.
“All right. We met. And yes, something happened. To be specific, something almost happened. But it didn’t. And before you ask, no, I am not going into details.”
“Wow.”
“Wow? What kind of response is that? I tell you something happened—something almost happened—and all you can say is, ‘wow’?”
“That’s so romantic. It’s like Nick and me.’-’
“How can you say that? You don’t know what went on. And, trust me, it was nothing like you and Nicholas. I mean, you told me the story. How you met through his sister. How you and he agreed on a business an that you would redecorate his penthouse and that, over a period of
time, the relationship changed, went from businesslike to something more personal...Amanda?” Sam’s eyes narrowed. Her sister was not given to deafening silences, but one was humming between their telephones right now. “That’s what happened with you and Nick, isn’t it?”
Amanda cleared her throat. “Not exactly. Things were, urn, they were a little more volatile.”
“Volatile.” Sam’s eyebrows lifted. “As in, you didn’t hit it off right away?”
“Uh-huh.”
“There’s more, isn’t there? I can tell.”
“Honestly, Sam, this has nothing in the world to do with you and Demetrios.”
Sam gave a weary sigh. “Maybe not. Look, I’m supposed to fly to Greece with him tomorrow. And I can’t seem to decide if I should or shouldn’t do it.”
“You’re leaving the country?” Amanda’s voice rose.“With Demetrios?” -
“He lives in Greece,” Sam said, her tone dry. “His business interests are in Greece. Where did you think I’d be working, Mandy? In Brooklyn?”
“Yes, but Greece... I mean, to go so far away with a man you hardly know...”
“Don’t tell me you’re starting to be sorry you pushed Demetrios Karas under my nose.”
Amanda sighed. “I didn’t push. I’m just surprised you’ll be leaving so quickly.”
“That makes two of us.”
“But there’s nothing to worry about. Neither Nick nor I would introduce you to anybody who wasn’t a decent, honorable person.”
Honorable, Sam thought. Decent. Oh, yes. Those were certainly adjectives she’d use to describe a man who’d tried to get into her pants without even knowing her name. Not that he’d had to do much to convince her. Not that she hadn’t been a more than willing participant.
“Sam?” Amanda’s voice softened. “Please. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing. Not really. It’s just—it’s just that I...” Sam hesitated. “If you didn’t like a man, if you found him irritating, arrogant and altogether a pain in the rear but he offered you a terrific job, would you take it?”
Silence, broken only by the soft sound of Amanda’s breathing. Then, finally, an uncomfortable murmur. “I, uh, I might.”
“Suppose—suppose on top of all that, you were, uh, you were attracted to him? I mean, you disliked him but there was—there was this something, this—this feeling—”
“Is that the situation between you and Demetrios?” Now the silence was on Samantha’s end of the line. After what seemed a very long time, she sighed. “I don’t go for men like him. For one thing, he’s far too sure of himself.”
“Authoritarian,” Amanda said. “I know the type.”
“Exactly. Authoritarian, demanding, and used to taking charge. And I do not want to be taken charge of, Mandy. That’s not my style at all.”
“But there’s this—this appeal...”
“Maybe. In some, uh, some very basic way.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
“You asked how it was with Nick and me when we met. Well, it was like that. The initial antipathy. The fast sizzle.” Amanda’s voice held a smile. “And then we fell in’ love and got married.”
Sam shut her eyes and rubbed her forehead. Her sister had marriage on the brain.
“Mandy,” she said gently, “believe me, this has nothing to do with love and marriage. I am not the least bit interested in love and marriage. Neither is Demetrios. This has to do with sex.”
“Sex is part of love.”
“For you,” Sam said gently. ‘She stood up, walked back into her bedroom and looked at the open suitcase still lying
on her bed. “It isn’t, for me. I don’t sleep around. You know that. But I don’t think going to bed with a guy has to lead to the altar, either. There have been men in my life, Amanda. Nice men. Great guys, some of them. But I’m never foolish enough to equate lust with love. 1 think it’s terrific that it works for you and for Carin, but that doesn’t mean it’s what i’m looking for.”
“In that case, you’ve answered your own question. Why worry about going to Greece with Demetrios? If you end up having an affair with him, you’ll enjoy it. And if you don’t, well, then you’ve lost nothing. Right?”
Sam thought it over. It was such a logical equation. Why hadn’t she come to it on her own?
“Right,” she said, after a few seconds. “Definitely right. But you have to promise me, no more meddling ever again. I don’t want you fixing me up. Or trying to fix me up.’
“Okay,” Amanda said, far too quickly.
“I’m serious. Don’t say ‘okay’ when what you really mean is that you’ll wait a couple of months and do the same thing all over again. You understand me?”
“Samantha—”
“Swear! Like when we were little.”
A sigh came over the phone. “Cross my heart, hope to die, honest and true, it’s not a lie.’ Are you satisfied? Look, if you don’t want to settle down, if you don’t see falling in love, getting married and starting a family as something you—”
Sam groaned. “You’re never going to stop, are you?”
“Oh, come on! I just said I would. And, you know, now that I think about it, I already did. Stop, I mean. If I were playing matchmaker, why would I have thought it was a terrific idea for Nick to tell Demetrios what a great translator you were?”
“So you could get the two of us together, any way possible,” Sam said sweetly.
Amanda chuckled. “Okay. Maybe. But,” she said, turning serious, “this is a real job. Nick says it’s going to need
skill. He says that Demetrios made it very clear he wouldn’t hire you just because you’re my sister.”
“That was before he knew I wasn’t just your sister, I was the woman he’d almost—” Sam caught her lip between her teeth. “It was before he knew who I was.”
“That’s my point. He didn’t know who you were, just that you were a great translator. That was why he wanted to meet you.”
Sam sighed. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
“Honestly, you’re making this more complicated than it has to... Jason? Jason, stop that right now! Give back your sister’s teething ring. Jason, you are four years old, you’re a big boy, and... Sam. Honey, your nephew just stole the baby’s toy. I’ll have to cut this short. I can call you later. Well, no. I can’t do that. We’re going out to dinner. Look, I’ll call you in the morning. First thing.”
“I won’t be here. I’ll be on a plane, to Greece. That is, I’m supposed to be on a plane, to Greece.”
“You sure about this?”
“No. Oh, not because of what might happen between Demetrios and me. I mean, what you said is right, if some thing did happen, if we got involved... But we won’t. In fact, after this afternoon, I can’t even figure out why I thought I was interested in him at all. He’s everything I dislike in a man. Controlling. Overbearing, self-centered, disgustingly macho and too damned good-looking to be let loose.”
“Yum, yum.”
Sam couldn’t help it; she laughed. Amanda laughed, too, then cleared her throat.
“Sis?”
“Yeah?”
“I know what you just said. I know what 1 said.. .but do me a favor and watch yourself, okay? I guess I’m ready to admit that you’re not looking for Mr. Right, but that doesn’t mean your heart can’t be broken.”
“My heart isn’t the part of my anatomy the Greek God
wants,” Sam said dryly. “And all I want from him is the money he’s promised for my services. It’s going to be business, nothing else.” -
“That’s what they all say.”
“Yes, and some of them—.me, for example—actually mean it.” Sam winced as a baby’s sobs and a little boy’s shrieks rose to a deafening pitch. “Kiss the kids for me,” she shouted, “and don’t worry. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
“You sure? Because if you’re not—”
“I’m positive. I’ll call you from Greece.”
She would, Sam thought, as she put down the phone, unless she changed her mind about going. That was still her privilege.
By ten, she’d finished packing. She scrubbed her face, brushed her teeth and got into bed wearing cotton panties and an oversize T-shirt she’d bought at a flea market in Paris for no better reason than that she liked the parade of poodles high-kicking across its front. It was late and she was tired, and if she woke up with doubts, she thought as she set her alarm clock, she could always meet the irritating Mr. Karas in the lobby and tell him what he could do with his job.
Satisfied, Sam punched her pillow into submission and fell asleep.
By ten, Demetrios was still pacing the floor of the bedroom in his New York penthouse, high above Fifth Avenue.
He was not in a good mood, a fact he’d made abundantly clear hours earlier to his cook when she’d asked if he was ready for dinner, and to his houseman, who’d committed the unpardonable sin of smiling when he greeted him.
Demetrios had snarled at the both of them. Once inside his bedroom, he’d shed his jacket, undone his tie, opened the top buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves. Then he’d caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror, sighed, picked up the intercom and made apologies, however brief, first to the cook and then to the houseman.
Why let his anger out on them, when the person who’d caused it was Samantha Brewster?
But his temper didn’t cool down, not even when he tried diverting it by dictating some notes into a small digital recorder.
“Memo to my broker,”. he said, as he paced the bedroom. “If the market share on Invixa slips again, you are to contact me immediately, before...”
Before what? How could he concentrate on business when he was still trying to figure out why in hell he’d hired Samantha Brewster for a job she probably couldn’t do, despite all Nick’s hype? A woman could be beautiful and still be intelligent. He was not foolish enough to think the combination impossible. But this woman went beyond beautiful. She was like a cat: sleek, soft and elegant, purring and stretching under a man’s hand as if she desired his touch before suddenly turning into a spitting demon that was all teeth and claws.
She was a tigress, and he had just arranged to spend four months with her at his side
Demetrios groaned, tossed the recorder on the bed and stalked to the window. What in hell had possessed him to employ her? It was a ridiculous question. He knew the answer. Lust. Lust had possessed him, and at his age, with his experience of women, admitting to such a thing was disgraceful.
He’d listened to his hormones instead of his head . and hired a woman who could not, would not be able to do the kind of subtle translations he needed. And even if, by some miracle, it turned out that she could, did he really want her around as a temptation?
“No,” he growled.
Hell, no. He did not. He had not come this far in life by acting on impulse, by doing things that were rash. He studied companies before he invested in them, ideas before he let himself believe in them. He hired only the best people, and never before seeing their references.
Until now.
All he’d done was mention his need for a highly competent linguist to Nick. And Nick said, well, as it happened, he knew just such a person. She was his sister-in-law. Yes, one of Amanda’s sisters.
Demetrios had nodded, but be hadn’t been impressed. First Amanda had a sister who couldn’t find her own man; now, she had one with a degree—a post-graduate degree, Nick had emphasized—in an amazing number of languages. It seemed too much to swallow but Nick was his friend so he’d said, well, wasn’t that interesting? And when Nick asked if he’d like to meet her, what could he have said but yes?
What he’d meant was that he’d meet with her as a courtesy. And if, by some miracle, she seemed competent, he’d made it clear that he was promising nothing except to have her credentials vetted. There was no rush. He had translators back home that he’d used before. It was only that he suspected they were too academic, too literal for situations in which inference might be just as important as accuracy.
Demetrios put his palms against the cool window glass and stared down at the city lights t far below him.
All those intentions had vanished when he’d discovered that Nick’s supposedly brilliant sister-in-law was the very woman he’d almost made love to that night in Brazil, discovered, as well, that she was as beautiful in the flesh as she’d been in his memory all these weeks.
One look at Samantha and all his plans and logic had flown out the window. He’d ended up offering her much more money than he’d intended—much more than she’d expected, judging by the look on her face. And if that weren’t enough, just to be sure she took the bait, he’d framed his job offer as a challenge, the kind he knew, instinctively, she would not be able to turn down.
Demetrios shook his bead.
So much for the conventions by which he lived. He’d grown up in a household in which the regulations were legion; he had not made the mistake of repeating that pattern of rigidity but he did have a few immutable rules by which he lived.
He never did anything carelessly. He didn’t behave precipitously. And be never mixed business with pleasure.
So, what had he done this afternoon? Broken every one of those rules, that was what. He was flying to Greece with a woman who might not speak French or Italian any more fluently than he did, a woman he’d almost taken to bed, a woman who could still stir his passion even now, after she’d walked out on him, made a fool of him, treated him as if he were dirt;
Had he lost his mind? His own stupidity enraged him. ..but there was a solution. You had to know when to cut your losses.
This, most assuredly, was the time.
Demetrios grabbed his suit jacket, dug through the pockets. Nick had given him Samantha’s address and phone number. He’d pulled out the slip of paper when he put her into the taxi. What had he done with it after that?
There it was, in his breast pocket. He glanced at it, crossed the room, started to pick up the phone... and saw the time. Midnight. Was he really going to phone at this hour and tell her he’d changed his mind about employing her? No, he was not. She might read something into it, might assume there was some urgency in his need to call off their deal.
Besides, it would be far more pleasurable to give her the news in person.
He would go to Samantha’s apartment in the morning, as planned. He’d wait in the lobby and when she appeared, he’d be polite, soften the blow with a check that was the *****alent of a month’s pay and say that he’d thought things over and changed his mind. If she insisted on a reason, he’d tell her that he really wasn’t sure she had the skills necessary for the job.
Yes, he thought, with a little smile of *******ment. His
smile broadened as he undressed. It was good to feel back in command again. That was where a man should always be, where a woman was concerned.
Still smiling, definitely satisfied, he got ready for bed, punched his pillow into submission, and fell soundly asleep.
He awoke at six, welt before the buzz of his alarm.
He shaved, showered, dressed. The penthouse lay draped in early morning darkness when Demetrios tossed his carry on bag into the back seat of the black Ferrari he kept in the garage beneath the building. He drove through quiet city streets. It was a Sunday, when New Yorkers slept in.
Samantha’s apartment building was shabby, its saving grace the tiny pocket park behind it. He frowned as he parked his car. No wonder his job offer had brought such a shocked expression to her face. Clearly, she needed the money, but her finances were not his problem.
He trotted up the steps to the front door. At least it was locked, he thought grimly... No. It wasn’t. The knob turned easily and he stepped into a small lobby. A woman should not live alone in such insecure circumstances—but that was not his concern, either.
Demetrios glanced at his watch. He was a few minutes early. He shifted from foot to foot. It was almost as cold inside the lobby as it was in the street.. .if you were foolish enough to call this minuscule space a lobby.
He looked at his watch again, then at the mailboxes lining the wall to his left. S. Brewster, Apartment 401. At least she had the presence of mind not to list her entire name and let the world know that she was a woman who lived alone.
She did live alone, didn’t she?
Not that that was his affair, either.
Dammit, a man could get claustrophobia trapped in a space hardly larger than a telephone booth, breathing in air that was redolent of cabbage. He glanced at the staircase ahead and sighed. Four flights to climb, he thought, and started up. Was that how she kept that beautiful body trim?
His frown deepened.
He hadn’t come here to think about Samantha’s body or how she lived her life. He’d come to tell her, in person, that their deal was off, and to give her the check he’d tucked into his pocket.
Her apartment was at the top of the stairs. He took a breath, cleared his throat, ran a hand through his hair...
“Hell,” he muttered, and stabbed the doorbell with his finger.
Nothing happened. He scowled, glanced at his watch. She was supposed to meet him downstairs in a few minutes. Wasn’t she up? Wasn’t she dressed? What kind of competency did such behavior suggest?
Not much, he thought coldly. It was a good thing he’d decided not to hire her.
He rang the bell. Rang it again. And again. And... The door opened a crack, stopped by the length of a security chain. He could see half of her face as she peered out at him. An eye. A cheek. A tumble of wet, curling, autumn- dark hair.
“You,” she said tightly.
“Me,” Demetrios said, just as tightly. “Open the door, Miss Brewster.”
“Why? What are you doing here? You’re not due here for another twenty minutes.”
“Ten minutes. Will you please open this door?” Sam hesitated. What did he want? She’d just come out of the shower. She wasn’t dressed for a confrontation with Demetrios. She knew how this would go. She’d tell him she’d decided against the job. He’d try to talk her out of the decision. It would be better to hold the discussion under more formal circumstances.
“Miss Brewster.” His voice was sharp and commanding. “I am not in the habit of discussing business in tenement hallways.”
Sam glowered at him. “This is not a tenement, Mr. Karas, but I suppose someone born with a 24-karat spoon in his
mouth thinks any place without hot and cold running servants is a tenement.”
She shut the door, undid the chain, then flung the door open. What did it matter if she was wearing a terry-cloth robe she’d owned since college? If her feet were bare, her hair dripping onto the carpet, her face free of makeup? She. didn’t have to look like something out of Vogue to tell Demetrios to take his job and shove it.
“Very well,” she said, her tone the equal of his, “come in.”
He stepped inside and wasted no time. “You’re fired,” he said curtly.
Sam folded her arms. “You can’t fire me.”
“I can do whatever I choose, and I choose to fire you.”
“Not if I’ve already quit.”
He stared at her. “What do you mean, you’ve already quit? You can’t do that!”
“But I have. I don’t want to work for you.”
He hadn’t expected that. Sam could tell because the scowl on his face turned to consternation. Lovely, she thought with delight. Had anyone ever walked out on the Greek God? She doubted it. Not an employee, if he paid them as well as he’d intended to pay her. Not a woman. What woman would turn away from him if he wanted her?
I would, she told herself, and lifted her chin.
“I see,” he said. “You live in a place like this, and you turn down a job that pays as well as the one I’ve offered you?”
“A place like what?” Sam glared at him. “This is how real people live, Mr. Karas, but I guess you wouldn’t know that.”
“This building has no lock on the outside door. That security chain you hide behind could be taken out by one determined push...”
What was he doing? How she lived, where she lived, was none of his business. Hadn’t he reminded himself of that just a little while ago?
“Unless,” he said softly, “you don’t live alone.”
Sam narrowed her eyes. “Thank you for your concern, but I don’t need it or your money. I repeat, Mr. Karas. I quit.”
Demetrios took a step towards her. Despite herself, she stepped back. The look on his face was frightening.
“And you think that will solve the difficulty between us? That all you have to do is run away and everything will be fine?”
“There is nothing between us. And I am not running away.”
His eyes grew hot and dark. He moved closer; she stumbled back.
“You run, even now,” he said softly. His gaze moved over her, down the length of her body, then up again. “What are you afraid of, Samantha?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly, and hated how defensive she sounded. She’d had this all planned, and now... “I’m not afraid of anything. I just don’t think working for you is a good idea.”
“You lie.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
He reached out. She jerked back, but not quickly enough. His fingers threaded lightly through her hair.
“Don’t—don’t do that.”
“Do what?” His gaze moved over her face; she could almost feel it, like a caress. “Nicholas says you’ve done many things that take courage.”
“Nicholas talks too much.”
“He says you see life as a challenge.” His hand slid to the nape of her neck and she fought the almost overpowering desire to close her eyes and purr under his touch. “And yet, you fear me.”
Sam jerked free of his hand. “That’s ridiculous!”
“You fear what it would be like to find yourself in my bed.”
“My God, what an ego you have!”
“Is it because you know how it would be between us? That you’d lose all control in my arms?”
“All right. That’s it.” She brushed past him, reached for the door. “Goodbye, Mr. Karas.”
Demetrios caught her wrist. “I would be a lover who demands your soul as well as your body,” he said in a rough whisper. “That terrifies you.”
She was trembling and she didn’t know the reason. Nothing he said was true. She wasn’t a wide-eyed innocent, afraid to lose her virginity, afraid she would find such a transcendent experience in his arms that it would leave her empty once their affair ended.
She was trembling with anger, that was all. Anger, at his incredible conceit.
“You’d like to think that,” she said, “but my reasons for not wanting to work for you are much simpler. I don’t want to work with a man who wants to seduce me. I don’t believe in sleeping with my employer. My career depends on my reputation, and it’s far too important for me to jeopardize it.”
“Fine.”
“It took me a long time to establish my credentials. Pepole who deal with me know that I’m all business.”
Demetrios nodded. “Very well.”
“I’m not about to do anything to... What do you mean, ‘very well’?”
“I mean that you’re right. I, too, keep the two parts of my life—business and pleasure—separate from each other.”
Sam stared at him. “But—but a minute ago, you were—”
“I accept your terms, Samantha.”
“What terms? I didn’t—”
“We’ll shun all intimacy and maintain a working relationship only. Do you agree?”
She blinked. In the past five minutes, she’d quit, he’d fired her, he’d told her that sex with him would turn her world upside down but that sex would be off limits. Was she crazy, or was he?

“Are you saying you’ve decided not to fire me?” Hell. That was what he was saying, all right, and how had that happened, when his very first words to her had been, “You’re fired”?
“Yes,” he said calmly, “I have.”
“Why?” Sam folded her arms. “What changed your mind?”
The sight of you, Demetrios thought, the look of challenge in your eyes, the scent of your skin, the softness of it...
“It’s a business decision. I admit, I was.. .irritated.”
“Irritated? By what?”
“Miss Brewster. Samantha. Must we—”
“Yes. We must. And I much prefer Miss Brewster, Mr. Karas.”
Demetrios gritted his teeth. “Very well, Miss Brewster. It was your attitude.”
“My attitude? Oh, that’s wonderful. That’s incredible.” Her eyes flashed with anger. “I do not have an attitude, Mr. Karas. You, on the other hand, have nothing but.”
“Then we are more than a match for each other. Unless...”
“Yes?”
An insolent smile angled across his mouth. “Unless you don’t think you’re up to the challenge.”
“My God!” Sam threw up her hands in disgust. “Your conceit is appalling.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes,” she snapped, “it most certainly is.”
“Fine.” He took a step towards her, caught the ends of her belt in his hands. “In that case,” he said softly, “I have only two more questions.”
Sam’s heart lifted into her throat. He was drawing her towards him, undoing the sash. Stop him, she told herself, don’t let him do this...
His eyes locked on hers as he parted the robe. “Are you naked under this robe, Miss Brewster?”
The hoarsely whispered question stunned her. Slap him,
she told herself, put your hands on his chest and push him away.
Instead, she lifted them, curled her fingers into his shirt. Her body was on fire and Demetrios hadn’t even touched her—but he did, now. He slipped his hands beneath the robe, slid them up her back, then down, stroked her as she tried not to tremble.
“And are you a good translator?”
She caught her breath as he cupped her naked bottom, lifted her to him, brought her against his erection, and she felt a silken wetness bloom between her thighs.
“No,” she said shakily, “I’m not good. I’m excellent.”
He gave a soft laugh, lowered his face, bit lightly at her throat. “Fine. Because that’s all I want of you, gataki. Do you understand?”
“What did that—” Her breath hitched. His hands were moving on her, sliding over her skin. “What does that mean? What you called me?”
“Kitten.” He cupped her breasts, stroked his thumbs over her nipples, and she made a sound that was almost a moan. It was all he could do not to lift her in his arms, carry her to the sofa and take her, bury himself inside her. “Are we agreed, then? You will work for me. Nothing more.”
The idea wasn’t even a possibility. How could it be, when just his touch was driving her insane? “Samantha?”
But she had never walked away from a challenge. She was strong, not weak. Why walk away when all she had to do was find the right balance of power?
“Yes,” she said, “we’re agreed.” Slowly, she ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip, then rose on her toes. “But I want you to know what you’ll be missing,” she whispered, and she put her hands in his dark, silky hair, drew his head down to hers and lost herself, if only for a moment, in the heat, the passion, of his kiss..
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CHAPTER FIVE
IT WAS raining in Piraeus, the seaport that had been Athens’ commercial lifeline to the world for more than 2500 years.
Rain was unusual in the Greek islands at this time of year, especially a downpour like this. Demetrios, seated at the head of an olive-wood table in the conference room of Karas Lines, watched as the fat drops beat against the windows. The effect was hypnotic. That was what he told himself each time his attention wandered from the meeting.
It was safer to pretend he was diverted by the rain than to admit he couldn’t concentrate because of Samantha. Samantha, who had burned in his arms that morning in New• York—and who had since turned into an Ice Queen.
She was seated to the left and slightly behind him, the very essence of efficiency and decorum. He couldn’t see her, not without turning around, but he knew exactly how she looked. It was the same, day after day, week after week. By now, her image was lodged in his brain. She sat straight, holding a notepad and pen in her lap. Her knees were care fully aligned, her ankles demurely crossed. If she moved, it was only to write something on the pad or, occasionally, to lean towards him and speak softly into his ear.
That was what she’d done a few moments ago and he hadn’t heard much of what anyone said since then. His senses were still on overload, trying to get past the almost imperceptible brush of her breast against his arm, the scent of her skin.
It would have been easier to stop breathing.
How could a man drive such things from his mind?
Hiring her had been a mistake. Not because she wasn’t good at what she did. On the contrary. When he’d asked
her if she was good, she’d said she wasn’t just good, she was excellent. It was true. She was the best translator he’d ever employed.
She was also the only one who had ever made it impossible for him to keep his mind on business. No one had ever had that effect on him before.
Did she know? How could a woman who never smiled at him, who never offered a word that was not related to her job, manage to find ways to drive him crazy?
She’d just made a notation—his senses were so attuned to her that he could hear the faint scratch of pen on paper. The Italian seated across from him, a man who owned a long-dead title as well as a company that built the fastest, most elegant cruise ships in the world, was droning on and on, mostly in English though be occasionally lapsed into his own tongue and turned to his translator for help. Demetrios was doing his best to pay attention but for the life of him, he couldn’t have repeated a single word the man had just said.
He could, however, describe Samantha’s perfume. Vanilla. Jasmine. Something delicate. Mysterious. She’d just leaned towards him again and murmured something in his ear. The faintest drift of her fragrance carried to his nostrils but he felt the impact in a far different part of his body.
“Excuse me,” he said abruptly.
He pushed back his chair, smiled—or hoped he smiled— and gave a casual wave of his hand to indicate that everyone should continue talking. His secretary had laid coffee and pastries on a table near the windows and he strolled to it, carefully examined the tiny cakes as if his life depended on making the correct selection even though the thought of biting into one and actually trying to chew and swallow it was beyond the realm of possibility.
Instead, he poured a cup of coffee he didn’t want. It gave him an excuse to stay away from the conference table and his unsmiling, silent, stiff-necked translator, the woman he’d agreed not to view as a woman.. .and how in hell could he
manage that, when just the whisper of her nylons each time she crossed or uncrossed her legs was an aphrodisiac?
His reaction was ridiculous. He knew it. Determinedly, he turned his back to the conference table, lifted the coffee cup and sipped at the hot liquid.
A man wasn’t supposed to think the things he was thinking when he was in the middle of a multi million dollar business deal. He wasn’t supposed to sizzle with tightly controlled anger, either. You needed a cool head when you dealt with people like these.
No sex.
He and Samantha had made an agreement, and he was adhering to it. Why wasn’t she?
She was a walking, talking, breathing symbol of seduction, and never mind that look of cool removal, the stark black suit and low-heeled shoes, the way she drew all that incredible hair away from her face and clasped it, demurely, at her neck.
Demetrios’s hand tightened on the cup.
He should have fired her that morning in New York. To this moment, he couldn’t figure out what had happened. All he knew was that things had gone wrong somewhere be tween that dingy lobby and her tiny excuse for an apartment. Not only had he veered from his original intention, he’d lost the upper hand.
One moment Samantha had been telling him she would not work for him, and the next... The next, he’d touched her. Felt the heat of her skin, the silk of her breasts. Tasted the sweetness of her mouth. And then she’d kissed him, all but given herself to him in that kiss...
God. He couldn’t do this. Have these thoughts. Let these memories turn his body hard and hot with desire.
All of this, all of it, was her fault. Why had she kissed him that morning? To tease him? To drive him out of his mind and leave him wondering what it would be like to take her to bed? But those moments had affected her, too. He could still hear her soft moans, feel the race of her pulse
beneath his lips. He knew when a woman was lost in the heat of passion, and she had been lost that morning in his arms.
Could she forget that easily?
Anger hummed in his blood. Evidently, she could. Otherwise, she would not treat him as if be were a stranger. He swung around and looked at her. And she would not behave like this, smiling across the table at the Frenchman who owned a company the equal of the Italian’s and laughing at something he said.
A cold knot formed in Demetrios’s belly. Where were her ethics? Surely, she knew better. She worked for him. He had the right to expect her loyalty and obedience. Did she think she was here to socialize with the men with whom he did business?
Why didn’t she do what was expected of her? Nothing had gone as he’d intended. Not here. Not at his home on Astra, where he’d instructed his housekeeper to prepare a guest suite for her. Samantha had changed his plans in the blink of an eye.
“What’s that?” she’d said as his helicopter set down on his private island.
He’d barely glanced at the small house in the garden. “A guest cottage, but hardly anyone uses it.”
“I’ll use it,” she’d said. “That will give me the space and privacy I need to set up my computer and printer.”
“There is plenty of space in the main house,” he’d re plied, and immediately found himself in the unbelievable position of arguing with an employee who didn’t seem to understand that it was her place to accept his decisions with out question. That he’d let himself be drawn into such a situation still made him furious.
“Stay where you wish,” he’d said coldly, and ended thedispute.
She had.
She lived in the guest house, took her meals there despite his logical protestations.
“You are to dine with me,” he’d said, striding through the door to her quarters that first night after he’d found his dining room table set for one and listened to his house keeper’s halting explanation of how the Amerikanos had told the gardener, who had told the laundress, who had told her, that she would take her meals on a tray in the guest house.
Demetrios had clenched his fists. “She told the gardener, who told the maid, who told you?”
Yes, the housekeeper said. The gardener spoke a little English, because he had a daughter who lived in America. The laundress, who had once lived in America, was more proficient, so the gardener asked the laundress to speak with the Amerikanos, and she said it was true, she would eat alone, and she would come to the kitchen to collect her own tray and to return it.
“To the kitchen,” Den had ground out, between his teeth. “How thoughtful of her.”
He’d gone directly to the guest house and walked in, unannounced, to tell her she would learn to do as she was told, but Samantha had other ideas.
“In the future,” she’d told him, “please remember to knock and wait to be admitted.”
“Admitted?” he’d said incredulously, “admitted to my own guest house?”
“As long as I’m living in it, yes. As for dining with you...” She’d smiled politely. “You pay me to translate for you, Mr. Karas. That service does not include dining with you.”
What answer could he have given to such a statement? She saw dining with him as an obligation? So be it. He’d only been trying to be kind to her, a stranger in his country, but he was glad she’d turned him down. Why would he want to look across the table and see her each evening? It was far better to dine alone.
But, yes, he paid her to translate for him. That meant he expected her beside him all day, every day, at the office.
She didn’t seem to understand that. For a week, he’d watched her hurry out of the building whenever they broke for lunch, then watched her return with her cheeks pink and glowing, her hair just a little disheveled.
She had a lover, he’d thought, and before the rage inside him had completely taken over, he’d realized that was ridiculous. Samantha knew no one in Piraeus or, for that matter, in Athens. Apparently, she took her lunch alone. The others—the Frenchman, the Italian, even their translators— often joined him for lunch in his corporate dining room. It was a small but handsome room, and there was a cafe not far away that could be counted on to send over whatever was requested.
The others seemed more than willing to avail themselves of the arrangement. Why didn’t she?
In the second week, he’d asked his secretary, very casually, if she knew where his translator went each day during lunch.
“She walks,” his secretary said.
“She walks? Here? Alone, on the docks?”
His secretary bad shrugged as if to agree that such a thing was unheard of. “Yes, sir. I suggested it was unwise, but—”
“But, she does not take advice,” Demetrios said grimly, and his secretary had nodded.
He’d waited for Samantha to return. Then he’d explained that it was not safe for a woman to wander this part of Piraeus alone. He’d done it quietly, carefully, so that she might understand his concern was not the least bit personal but was only for her welfare, which was his responsibility.
It would have been more sensible to have expected a pig to fly.
“My welfare is my responsibility, thank you.”
Only a fool would not have known the simple words were meant as an insult. He was certain she would have gone right on with her midday strolls but, like it or no, she was his responsibility. She was a foreigner working in his country, for him. So, the next morning, he’d announced that he had given the matter some thought and he’d decided it would be more efficient... “and more conducive to our reaching an accord,” he’d added with a hard-won smile.. .if they had lunch as a group not just occasionally but as a daily practice.
From then on, they all met for a catered meal in the cor porate dining room—until today, when Samantha had gone to lunch with the Frenchman.
“You don’t mind if I steal Miss Brewster for an hour, do you, mon ami?” the Frenchman had said over morning coffee.
Mind? Demetrios thought, mind?
There was a soft peal of feminine laughter behind him. He turned around. Samantha had left her chair. She was standing with the Italian. And with the Frenchman. The damned Frenchman, who’d breezed off with her at lunch time as if she did not have a first, hell, a sole obligation to the man who was her employer...
“Miss Brewster,” Demetrios said. “Perhaps you would like to tell me what it is that you find so amusing?”
The room fell silent. He’d meant to sound lighthearted, as if he wanted to join in the fun, but from the way everyone was looking at him he knew he hadn’t pulled it off. Carefully, deliberately, he drew his lips back from his teeth.
“I hate to miss a good joke.”
No. Definitely not. He hadn’t fooled anybody. The Frenchman cleared his throat. “It was nothing, Demetrios. I merely asked your charming Miss Brewster a question in English and she explained that I had misused a phrase and thus given my question an entirely different meaning. Isn’t that right, mademoiselle?”
“Oh, but your English is generally excellent, monsieur.”
Sam’s voice was warm and low-pitched. She never speaks to me that way, Demetrios thought. She never looked at him that way, either, with a little smile. She never looked at him at all.
“You are too kind,” the Frenchman said pleasantly, “but I know that my English leaves something to be desired.”
It was the man himself who left something to be desired, Demetrios thought coldly. He had a translator of his own. Why did he need to talk to Samantha at all? And even if he did, she didn’t have to reply.
He would tell her that, later. Miss Brewster, he would say, from now on, you are to speak only to me...
Demetrios took a deep breath. hell, he thought, I am losing my mind!
He was deep in negotiations it had taken months to set up, verging on a deal that was worth a huge sum of money. More than that, he was about to take his company in a direction he’d dreamed of for years. He should have been hanging on every word that was uttered in this room, but he wasn’t. He couldn’t. His concentration was close to non existent.
The rain, he thought desperately, it had to be the rain.
Sam returned to her place at the conference table and sat down. He followed and told himself to forget everything but the meeting. The Italian began speaking. Demetrios could catch the meaning of some of the words but, of course, he would rely on his translator’s expertise. He turned towards her. He’d learned to watch her face as she listened, to read her expression for subtle changes.
She was leaning forward, her brilliant emerald eyes fixed on the Italian as if he were the only man who’d ever interested her. Why didn’t she ever look at him that way?
Because she’s not trying to translate your words, his brain told him calmly.
His battered ego wasn’t listening.
How could she do that? Smile at one man, go to lunch with another, and treat the one who employed her as if he didn’t exist.
Because, his brain said patiently, that’s what she’s paid to do. That was her job; it was what they’d agreed, that morning in her apartment. He was pleased because she’d
turned out to be an excellent translator. So what if she was also a beautiful woman? The world was filled with beautiful women. This one was nothing special. She was nothing to him at all. Hadn’t he proved that by never referring to what had almost happened in Brazil? By not letting her absence at his dinner table annoy him?
How could it annoy him, when he hardly ever spent the evening at home?
He sent her back to Astra in his helicopter each night. He stayed in Athens, dining out, getting home late, knowing she had to hear the roar of the ‘copter as it made the return trip.. .not that she ever mentioned it. She didn’t give a damn what he did or who he did it with, not that he was doing anything but eating dinner in his club and then burying his nose in the day’s papers because’ his friends and acquaintances had taken to avoiding him.
“Trouble with a woman?” one had asked him the other night, and he knew he’d damn near snarled when he said no, why would he have trouble with a woman? Especially with this one, who he didn’t want despite a face that surely would have put Helen of Troy to shame and a body Aphrodite would have envied.
“...not quite what it seems,” Samantha whispered, her breath warm against his ear.
Demetrios snapped back to reality.
She was leaning towards him, speaking softly as if they were lovers lying in each other’s arms. It was only an illusion. She spoke of dollars and gross tonnage, not of passion and heat, and her language was formal, Mr. Karas this, Mr. Karas that, and the occasional “sir,” which she always managed to make sound like an insult.
Did she think addressing him as Mr. Karas would make him forget he’d almost taken her to bed the very first night they’d met?
His vision blurred. He held his breath, reminded himself that he was not the least bit angry—and exploded.
“A sto dialolo!” he growled, and shot to his feet so quickly that his chair fell over.
The silence beat against his eardrums. They were all staring at him, as if he’d changed into a dangerous animal.
Maybe he had.
He bent down, picked up the chair and righted it. Then he faced the little assemblage.
“My apologies,” he said stiffly. “I seem to—to have developed a sudden headache.”
He waited, but no one spoke.
“I suggest we adjourn for the day. We’ve made progress.” They’d made none, but what was the harm of one more lie? “But it is getting late.” That was true enough. It was dark outside. “And the rain will make the roads slick.” Another bit of truth, if not a vital one. “So, what I suggest...” What? What did he suggest, that would erase the bewildered expressions from the faces turned towards him? “What I suggest, since this is Friday, is that we meet to morrow morning at, say, nine o’clock at my home. My driver will be at your hotel at eight. He will take you to the airport, where my helicopter will be waiting.” He managed to smile. “Perhaps we can discuss some of our concerns more easily in a less formal setting.”
Chairs were pushed back. Hands were shaken. Coats were put on, umbrellas gathered. People hurried to the door. Demetrios followed after them.. .and clamped a hand on Samantha’s shoulder before she could leave.
“You will stay.”
The look she gave him would have turned any normal man to stone but he was not a normal man. Not right now. He was a man filled with an anger he didn’t fully understand and that only helped convince him that his rage was her fault.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said, you are to stay.”
“Am I really?” Her eyes flashed. “Perhaps you’d like to amend that to an order to heel, sit and stay.”
Demetrios shot a look past her. “Lower your voice,” he growled..
“I am not a dog in need of training.” Her voice quivered with anger. “I do not Sit or stay or do anything else on command, and I have nothing further to say to you. Good night, Mr. Karas.”
“You will not speak to me like that!”
“And you,” she said, shaking off his hand, “will not embarrass me in front of anyone, ever again!”
The look on his face was wonderful. Anger? Disbelief? No. Better than that. It was shock. Sam figured that nobody had ever told off the Greek God, nobody had ever dared to, not in his entire life.
“Goodbye, Mr. Karas,” she said, and strode away.
“Come back here,” he shouted.
Sam quickened her pace. She heard him pounding after her, then heard the murmur of his secretary’s voice and his harsh response, but his footsteps stopped.
“Samantha? Samantha! You will wait for me!”
Like hell she would. She burst from the building, waved away Demetrios’s driver, ran up the street, took the corner at top speed and didn’t slow down until she’d taken another half dozen turns. Then she slowed to a walk while her breath made steamy plumes in the chill darkness and an icy, wind- driven rain beat into her face.
She paused to get her bearings. Where was she? She’d walked these fascinating, ancient streets until Demetrios had put a stop to it, but never at night. Well, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except seeing to it that she never saw Demetrios Karas again.
How dare he? How dare he speak to her that way?
You will stay.
Sam shivered and pulled up her collar. V
The no-good, self-centered, domineering son of a bitch! Ignoring her, day after day, except when it suited him to boss her around. Announcing she would take her meals with him, as if he owned her. Forcing her to have lunch in his
company for no good reason. All that nonsense about her being his responsibility...
She’d never been any man’s responsibility. She never would. Her mother had gone that route and look where it had taken her. First she’d been a doormat for a weak man; now, she was the possession of a powerful one. Her step father treated Marta like a cherished piece of crystal kept safe on a shelf. And yes, Amanda and Carin were headed for that same kind of existence.
Sam quickened her steps.
No, thank you. Not only wasn’t she interested in marriage, she wasn’t interested in getting involved, even tem porarily, with a man who thought of women as responsibil ities. That was just a polite way men had of saying they had the right to dictate what women did with their lives.
Demetrios wasn’t her husband, he wasn’t her lover, he wasn’t anything but her boss and he’d already tried caging her. He’d tried to install her inside his house; he’d put a stop to her going off on her own at lunchtime. He wanted to watch her every move.
Did he actually think she’d let him do that? Treat her as if she were his property, except for the times he treated her as if she were invisible? Nothing but a grunt when she boarded his stupid helicopter each morning. Another grunt at night. Not that they returned to his island together all that often. He was too busy at night in Athens, doing whatever it was he did with whomever he did it. His secretary, maybe, and never mind all that stuff about not mixing business with pleasure.
The woman looked at him as if he was the most desirable man on the planet.
He wasn’t.
He was a walldng ego. A self-important ruler of his own little kingdom. He was a man who thought he was irre sistible to women.
Well, he wasn’t. Not to her.

Sam burrowed deeper into her coat and bent her head against the wind.
She’d seen right through him from day one. It was a damned good thing she hadn’t fallen into the trap and gone to bed with him. The nerve of him, to speak to her as he had just now. To look at her the way he’d been looking at her all afternoon, as if he’d finally remembered she was a woman, as if he were weighing the possibility of throwing everybody out, locking the door, backing her into a corner and doing things...
Hot, delicious things.
Sam shuddered again. She didn’t want any of that. Not from him.
A horn blared as she stepped off the curb. A car flew past and she jumped back but not in time to prevent a wall of cold, dirty water from drenching her from head to foot. She glared after the car and muttered a phrase that described exactly what she thought of the driver in the Greek she’d learned on the streets.
Mr. I-Am-The-Law Karas would have been surprised at how much Greek she’d picked up since she’d come here. She listened; she learned. That was what linguists did. Now she knew lots of polite words—and lots of impolite idioms. That had been one benefit of those lunchtime walks, until Demetrios had decided to leash her. So she’d known what to call the idiotdriver who’d just soaked her to the bone.
More to the point, she knew what Demetrios said just before he’d overturned his chair.
A sto dialolo, he’d snarled. To hell with it.
If he meant, to hell with their arrangement, she agreed. Completely. She had no business here. Saying she’d work for him had been stupid. She should have stuck to Plan A, told him to take his job and stuff it, just as she’d intended.
Dammit, the puddles were ankle deep. There had to be a taxi around here. If only she knew where she was but ev erything looked different at night. Everything felt different, too.
The back of her neck prickled and she picked up her pace.
No, she didn’t belong here, not just in Piraeus but in Greece. She should never have let Demetrios turn his job offer into a challenge. Even that kiss...
Okay. So the kiss hadn’t been his idea, it bad been hers. And it had been stupid, just as it had been stupid to let him touch her, but the temptation to give him a taste of what he’d never have, had been too strong to ignore. He’d de served that little lesson. He was too sure of himself, accus tomed to taking what he wanted though, dammit, there was something incredibly sexy about all that macho ego...
And that was crazy.
Hadn’t she always made it a point to avoid men who thought they owned the world and all the women who in habited it? Hadn’t she always known what such a man would be like as a lover? That he’d be dominating, and possessive, and jealous?
And incredible.
Sam’s pulse beat quickened. She couldn’t forget that morning, when he’d put his hands under her robe as if he had the right to do whatever he wanted to her. With her. It was wrong. The way he’d made her feel was wrong, but she’d relived the moment a hundred times. A thousand times. All she had to do was close her eyes and she felt him touching her, the sensual roughness of his fingertips, the drugging heat of his hands and his mouth...
A horn screamed into the silence of the night as she stepped off the curb. Not again, she thought...
Tires shrieked as they clawed for purchase on the rain- darkened road. Sam looked up, blinded by headlights. A car was bearing down on her. She cried out, stumbled back. The car fishtailed, spun; she tripped over the cobblestones.
The car came to a stop just as she sank down, shaking, on the curb.
A door slammed. Footsteps pounded towards her. A dark shape bent over her and hard, angry hands closed on her shoulders. A stream of Greek words blistered her ears.
She had almost killed herself, the man was saying.
Sam looked up. His face was masked in shadow. “Seenghnómi,” she whispered, “I’m sorry...”
It wasn’t enough. She could feel the heat coming off him, the unbridled male fury. His hands tightened on her and he drew her to her feet.
A different kind ‘of fear kicked in, a fear born not of her brush with death but of this enraged stranger.
“No,” she said, struggling against him. “Don’t! I’ll scream!”
“Scream all you like,” Demetrios said grimly, and he swept her into his arms, carried her to his car, and dumped her inside.

 
 

 

ÚÑÖ ÇáÈæã ÕæÑ liilas676  
ÞÏíã 15-11-07, 07:46 PM   ÇáãÔÇÑßÉ ÑÞã: 13
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CHAPTER SIX
DRIVING a car, especially one with four hundred and eighty- something horses under the hood damned near begging you to let them run free on the twisted streets of an ancient city, was not a good idea when your gut was churning with anger.
Demetrios knew that. He also knew that it was better to let out his emotions this way than to pull to the curb, turn to Samantha and confront her. She had done something so stupid that it had nearly cost her life. No, it would not be wise to stop the car. If he did, he’d shake her until her teeth rattled...
Or pull her into his arms and unleash his bottled-up rage in a kiss that would make it clear she’d had no right to run away from him, that he would not permit her to do such a thing again.
At least he could still think clearly enough to know that taking either action would be a mistake, so he slammed the car into gear and stepped hard on the gas.
“I could have run you over,” he said as they sped - through the darkness. She didn’t answer. That only made
him angry enough to drive a little faster. “What did you think you were doing, huh? Stepping off that curb without so much as looking? Did you think you were in a jungle in Borneo?” He drew a deep, ragged breath. “You should not have been walking these streets to begin with. I told you they were not safe, i told you and told you...” He clamped his lips together, tightened his hands on the wheel, fought for self-control. “Are you all right?”
She was soaked. She was shivering. And her ankle hurt. “Yes,” she lied, “I’m fine.”
“Anything could have happened to you. Why did you do something so foolish? Why did you run away?”
“You wanted to argue. I didn’t.”
“I did not want to argue,” he said grimly. “I wanted to talk to you, that’s all.”
“We had nothing to talk about.”
Nothing to talk about? She’d spent the day flirting with another man and they bad nothing to talk about? Demetrios’s jaw tightened.
“I am your employer. If I wish to discuss something with you, I will do so.”
Hell. He sounded like an idiot. Samantha had to think so, too, but she said nothing. That only egged him on.
“Do you hear me? Do you understand what I’m telling you? If I wish to talk to you, if I wish you to remain behind after the others leave...” He paused, frowned. “What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
But she had said something in a papery whisper. An apology? She’d done that already—had she really offered it in Greek? At least, he thought coldly, she understood how close she’d come to being seriously hurt.
Samantha, hurt.
A hand fastened around his heart. He considered pulling over, taking her in his arms, telling her that she’d had no right to scare him...
“It’s too late to show contrition,” he said coldly. Only the purr of the engine and the rumble of the tires on the cobbled streets broke the silence.
“What you did was stupid.”
Still, she remained silent. His frown became a scowl. Why didn’t she respond? Was she just going to let him call her stupid, give her orders? No. That wasn’t Samantha.
Something was wrong. For the first time, he looked at her. Thee mou! his mouth went dry. She was huddled in her seat, head back, eyes shut. He could hear the labored hiss of her breath.
“Samantha?” She didn’t answer, and he pulled to the curb. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me,” he said roughly, as he reached for her. “Are you hurt?”
She didn’t answer. He put his hand under her chin, made her look at him. Light from a car coming towards them played across her and he cursed sharply. Of course she was hurt! Her eyes were enormous. Her face was colorless, except for a bruise on her cheek and another on her temple.
No, he thought, no...
“Panagia mou,” he whispered, and enfolded her in his arms. “What have I done to you, gataki?”
“It was my fault.”
“No, sweetheart.” He stroked her wet hair. “I shouldn’t - have been driving so fast, but when I stepped out of the
office and Andreas told me you had run off...”
“Exactly. It was stupid. And then I—I stepped off the curb without looking...”
Worse and worse. She was bruised, probably in pain, and she was contrite. That was almost more frightening than anything else. He cupped her shoulders, drew back so he could look into her eyes, then gently touched her temple.
“Does this hurt?”
“No.” A shudder went through her; the sound of her breathing grew ragged. “It’s my ankle. When I jumped back...! must have landed wrong. My ankle made this—this funny sort of pop.”
Demetrios’s stomach tightened. He twisted in his seat, tried to see her feet, but there wasn’t enough space.
“Can you move your foot, gataki?”
Sam nodded. “Yes. But it hurts.”
Quickly, he got out of the car, went around to her door and opened it. He took a flashlight from the glove compartment, squatted down and tried to see her ankle.
“Dammit,” he muttered. “I can’t...”
What was he doing? She said her ankle hurt. What good
would it do him to look at it? What she needed was a doctor. And fast, he thought helplessly, because now she was trembling. From the cold? From shock? God, what had he done to her?
Demetrios peeled off his jacket and carefully folded it around Sam’s shoulders, waiting for her to object, to argue, to tell him what he could do with his jacket and his concern.. .but she burrowed deep into its warmth.
“Better?”
“Y—yes.”
“Good.”
But it wasn’t good. She should have been sniping at him, accusing him of being an idiot; she should have batted away his hands when he buttoned her inside the jacket. Her quiet passivity terrified him.
“You’ll be fine,” he told her.
She nodded.
“Fine,” he said again, in a voice that would brook no disagreement. Then he clasped her shoulders gently in his hands, bent to her, pressed the softest of kisses on her trembling mouth and told himself that ankles were, after all, only anides...
But this was Sam and the realization that she was in pain, that he had caused it, was almost more than he could handle.
There was a hospital only blocks away.
Was it best to drive fast, and get her there quickly, or to drive slowly to be sure he didn’t jar her by hitting bumps or potholes in the road? Compromise seemed the best solution. He drove at a speed that was half what he normally did and twice the crawl he’d considered.
Sam’s teeth chattered; in between; she made muffled sounds of distress. She was hurting, his invulnerable, unshakeable tigress. Please, he thought, please, let her be all right.
Time slowed, seemed to stop, but finally he reached the hospital. He parked in front, ignoring the signs that warned
against it. Carefully, so carefully, he lifted her into his arms. She made a little sound and he crooned soft words of com fort as he carried her into the building, words he had not heard since the earliest, almost forgotten years of childhood—words he had never used before.
There was no one in the waiting area. Demetrios strode to the reception desk. “We need a physician,” he said.
The woman behind the desk looked up. He saw boredom in her eyes as she looked at him, then at Samantha.
“What is the problem?”
“This woman is hurt.” -
“That’s what I asked you. What is the problem?”
Demetrios told himself to stay calm. It would help nothing to explode.
“She fell.”
“Fell where?”
“On the street.”
“What street?”
He felt his jaw tighten. “It was dark. I did not look for street signs. What does it matter? I tell you, she is hurt.”
The woman took a form from a drawer. “I will need her name and address.”
“Her name is Samantha Brewster. She lives with me.” The woman looked up. “And where is that?”
He told her. He told her whatever she asked while time, and his patience, waned. Sam shifted in his arms, gave a soft hiss of pain. He thought about putting her in a chair, then vaulting the counter, grabbing the clerk and shaking her.
“And how did this fail take place?”
“Miss Brewster stepped in front of my car. I blew my horn, tried to stop. She was startled and she jumped back.”
“A vehicular accident. I see. Have the police been notified?”
“It was not a vehicular accident!”
“But you just said—”
“I didn’t hit her with the car.”
“I distinctly understood you to say—”
“Demetrios,” Sam said faintly, “make sure she understands it wasn’t your fault.”
“She speaks English?”
“She is an American.”
“Ah. In that case, there are two other forms that—”
“The forms can wait.” Again, Demetrios told himself to stay calm. Anger would not help; he had dealt with enough officious clerks in enough countries to know that. “She needs a doctor immediately. She is hurt. Something is wrong with her ankle. And she is shaking. For all I know, she is in shock.”
“The forms—”
“To hell with the forms,” he roared. “Send for a doctor!”
“Sir. You cannot give orders to me. I must have this information. Some of these papers require the lady’s signature. After that, you will wait until you hear your name called. Do you understand?”
“Perhaps you should understand what your superiors will do when they learn that a man who sits on the board of directors of this hospital was kept waiting.”
The clerk blanched. “What did you say your name was?”
“I am Demetrios Karas. And I wish to see a physician— an orthopedist—at once.”
“Of course, sir. If you would be so kind as to take a seat, I’ll call for the doctor immediately.”
He took a seat, held Sam close in his arms, warmed her with his body. She said something too softly for him to hear and he bent his head towards her.
“What, gataki?”
“I said, that was quite a...” Her teeth chattered. “...a p-p performance. Are you r-r-really one of the hospital’s directors?”
“Who knows?” He smiled. “It is possible. I donate to many charities and sit on many boards. It is difficult to keep track.”
“Almost as difficult as it is to k-k-keep track of your ac-accent.”
“What accent? I have no accent.”
Sam almost laughed. “You sound different, when you’re upset.”
“Different?”
“Yes. Very old world. Very Greek.”
“I had not noticed,” he said, and winced because he knew she was right. “We will add that to your job description,” he said gently. “From now on, you will not only translate for me, you will tell me when I begin to sound too old world.”
“You never sound—” Sam caught her breath. “You never s-sound too old world. And I’m quitting my j-job.”
“You cannot quit,” he said calmly. “We have a contract.”
“We d-don’t. We nev-never signed anything.”
“We have a verbal agreement. Such agreements are contracts. Would you break a contract with a man powerful enough to intimidate a civil service tyrant?”
Their eyes met. Hers were still dark with pain; her face was still pale. Was that a grimace on her lips or was she trying to smile?
“Sir?”
Demetrios looked up. “Yes?”
“The doctor will see you now.”
“An orthopedist,” he said as he rose to his feet with Sam in his arms.
“The head of orthopedics,” the clerk said, and as Samantha buried her face in Demetrios’s neck, he definitely felt her lips turn up in a smile.
The bruises on Sam’s face were nothing.
Bruises would not have shown up so quickly, the doctor explained. These were simply smudges of dirt and the nurse who attended the orthopedist and anticipated his every need carefully sponged them away with cotton dipped in alcohol.
The doctor checked Sam’s pupils and assured Demetrios they were fine. So was her coordination. She wasn’t in shock, either. She was cold from the night and the rain.
The nurse shooed him out of the examining room long enough to take off Sam’s soaked clothing and wrap her in a hospital nightgown, a hospital robe, and a blanket.
When he stepped back into the cubicle, his heart ached at the sight of her. His fierce kitten looked more like some thing the cat had dragged in. He kissed her forehead, sat in the chair beside her and clasped her hand while the doctor examined her ankle. He was very gentle but Sam clenched her teeth, then cried out with pain.
Demetrios almost went wild. “You are hurting her!”
“I am trying my best not to do so, Mt. Karas.”
Sam let out a strangled gasp. Her nails dug into his palm. “Dammit,” Demetrios said, “you must be more careful.”
The doctor looked at him. “You have a choice, Mr. Karas,” he said softly. “You may stay here and be quiet or you may go out to the waiting room until I am done. Which will it be?”
Demetrios wanted to argue. He wanted to tell the man who had wrenched that cry from Samantha that he took orders from no one, that if he dared hurt the woman clutching his hand like a lifeline he would—he would...
“Please, Demetrios,” Sam whispered. “Don’t make a fuss.”
The pleading words took the fight out of him. “I won’t let them send me away.” He brought her uninjured hand to his mouth. “I will behave,” he said humbly. “I promise.”
Somehow, he managed to keep his word, even when it took a moment longer to get her to the X-ray lab than he thought it should, even when they wouldn’t let him go inside with her no matter how he argued. By the time the doctor reappeared, Demetrios was pacing the corridor.
“Well?” he said impatiently, “how is she?”
“Would you like to join me for some coffee, Mr. Karas? It has been a long day and a longer evening, and—” -
Demetrios grabbed the orthopedist’s arm “Just tell me what happened to her, dammit!”
The doctor sighed. “Miss Brewster sprained her ankle. It’s somewhere between a grade one and a grade two sprain.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means she’s probably torn a ligament. It’s painful and it will take a bit of time to heal.”
“It isn’t a fracture?”
“No, no, the ankle’s not broken. Actually, she’s fortunate. Even a severe sprain can sometimes require surgery.”
Demetrios closed his eyes. He remembered his anger at knowing Samantha had set off alone in the dark, rain- washed streets, anger that had changed to panic when she’d suddenly stepped into the path of his car.
“It’s all my fault,” he said, swallowing hard. “She stepped off the curb. It was raining, and I was driving too fast...”
The doctor nodded. “She will be fine,” he said gently.
“I want the best surgeons,” Demetrios said. “And a second opinion. No offense, Doctor, but before you operate—”
“No one will operate,” the doctor said, even more gently. “As I said, Miss Brewster was fortunate. Her injury is painful, not dangerous. She’ll need to keep the anide strapped for a few days and I’ve given her something for the sprain. She will be fine.”
Demetrios stared at him. “Is that all?”
“Absolutely. My assistant is putting an elastic bandage on the ankle.” He clapped Demetrios on the back. “Your lady is fine, Mr. Karas.”
“She works for me,” Demetrios said quickly, “that is all. And I am much relieved at what you’ve told me, Doctor.”
“I’m happy to hear it. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going home before my wife no longer recognizes my face.”
- “Yes. Of course.” Demetrios smiled and held out his hand. “How can I thank you?”
“You might see to it that the board considers another residency program so that we’re not so overworked here.”
“Consider it done.”
“Just do yourself and the patient a favor, will you? Calm down before you drive her home.”
“1 can take her home tonight?”
“Unless you’d rather she spent the night in the hospital.”
“I will take her home,” Demetrios said firmly. The shiver of pleasure that went through him at those words was some thing he preferred not to dwell on.
They gave him a vial of little tablets and instructions to give Sam one every four hours if she was in pain.
She wasn’t in pain now. Whatever they’d already given her was working. Demetrios could see it in the loopy smile she gave him. She was still wrapped in the hospital gown, robe and blanket. The nurse handed him a plastic bag that contained Sam’s soaked clothes and assured him that there was no hurry to return the borrowed things.
“Up we go,” Demetrios said softly, and lifted her into his arms again.
Sam curled her arms around his neck, sighed and lay her head against his shoulder.
“Wher’re we going?”
Her words were slurred. Her breath was warm. She was warm, and he thought how amazing it was that she should feel so right, in his embrace.
“Home, gataki,” he said softly, as he carried her to his
car. - -
“Mmm,” she said thickly. “Home.”
“Yes, mátya mou. Home.”
He strapped her into the seat beside him, drove to the helipad as carefully as if his precious cargo were made of glass. She was sound asleep when he carried her onto his helicopter and she was still asleep when he carried her into
his house—a house she had never seen, except for the kitchen.
His usually unflappable housekeeper looked shocked when she saw him. “Oh, my goodness,” she said. “What happened, sir?”
“Miss Brewster hurt her ankle,” he said softly, even though he suspected it would take a herd of stampeding Cape buffalo to rouse the woman nestled in his arms. “She will need care for the next few days.”
“Certainly, sir. Perhaps you want to put her in the Blue suite. If you wish, I can put a cot near the bed and sleep there so that I’ll be nearby if she needs me.”
“Yes, thank you, Cosimia. That might be...” He stopped in midsentence. “On second thought, it won’t be necessary. Miss Brewster will stay with me.”
His housekeeper’s mouth dropped open. “With you, sir?”
“Yes,” he said calmly, as if the idea were the logical outgrowth of a careful thought process, “with me. It will be simpler that way,” he added briskly. “I can use the sofa in my dressing room, if you would be good enough to make it up.”
He sat in an armchair near the window in his bedroom, the warm burden that was Sam in his arms, while Cosimia did as he’d asked.
Sam, be thought, smiling a little as he looked at the pale, perfect face, the slightly parted lips, the mass of autumn hair that had come loose of its clasp and dried in a fill of wild curls. Such an incongruous name for a woman so fermmine, so beautiful—.and yet, the name suited her spirit. Her tenacity.
She had claws, his kitten, and she was never afraid to use them.
“All done, sir,” Cosiniia said softly.
“If you would just turn down the blankets on my bed...”
“I’ve already done that, sir.”
“Thank you.”
The door snacked shut. Demetrios didn’t move for a long time. At last he rose and carried Sam to his bed. She opened her eyes as he eased her down gently against the pillows.
“Dimetrios?”
He smiled. “Hello.”
“What’re you doin’?”
“Getting you to bed, gataki,” he said softly. He put his arm around her, held her against him as he slid the bulky hospital robe from her shoulders. “Does your ankle bother you?”
Sam frowned and peered at her leg. “Whatsat?”
“What...? Ah. It’s an elastic bandage.”
“Waffo?”
It took a few seconds to decode. “What for?”
“You hurt your ankle. You had an accident.”
“Uh-huh. I remember. Dark street. Rainy. Stepped in front of car.” Sam blinked. “Your car,” she said, making the two words one.
“My car,” he said tightly. “Yes.” He laid her back against the pillows, still wearing the hospital gown. Sam’s eyes closed.
“Stilldress.”
Stilidress? He shook his head. “I don’t understand, sweet heart. What is ‘stilidress’?”
“Me,” she murmured, and tugged at the gown. “Still- dress.”
Of course. She was still dressed, still in her underthings. Could he let her sleep in them? Or—or...
His throat constricted. He knew what to do. Ring for Cosimia. Ask her to come to his room, to undress Sam and slip her into something cool and silken. But even as he thought it, he was undoing the ties of the hospital gown, sliding the gown off her shoulders, letting it fall to her waist, fumbling at the closure of her bra.
Demetrios caught his breath at her beauty, at the small, rounded lushness of her breasts and the elegant contrast of
colors: the pale gold of her skin, the deep apricot of her nipples. How smooth her shoulders were, under his hands...
He dropped robe to the carpet, tortured himself with a quick glance at the strip of lace between her thighs, then laid her down against the pillows.
‘ Nice,” she whispered, her eyes still tightly closed
“Very nice,” he whispered back, and drew up the silk duvet.
She sighed, let out a long breath. He waited until her breathing become slow and steady. Then he kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her slightly parted lips.
Briskly,he undressed and put on a pair of sweat pants . He turned off all the lights but one that he dimmed, went into his dressing room, left the door open so he could hear Sam should she need him and lay down on the sofa. It was too short for his long legs but he was exhausted and he groaned with pleasure at the cool caress of the sheets. He shut his eyes, rolled over, rolled over again...
Sleep evaded him. He kept listening for Sam; kept getting up, going into the bedroom, standing over her to make sure she was all right.
sometime during the endless hours of the endless night, he heard her moaning. “Sweetheart?” he said, and he threw back blankets and hurried to her side. She was sitting up, the duvet clutched to her chin, still groggy enough to stare at him blankly.
“Demetrios?”
“Yes.” He sat down beside her, stroked a tangle of curls from her forehead. “Do you hurt, gataki?”
“My ankle feels like an elephant’s sitting on it.”
Quickly, he brought her one of the tablets the doctor had given him, poured her a glass of cold water.
“Open your mouth,” he said softly, holding his hand to her lips.
She took the tablet, her tongue brushing lightly over his
palm. A shudder went through him and he cursed himself for being an animal. Only an animal would feel desire now, when she was hurting.
“That’s good. Now drink some water.”
She took a sip, sighed and sank back against the pillows. He watched her for a moment before bending to her and brushing a gentle kiss over her mouth.
“Sleep well, kitten,” he whispered.
“Stay with me,” she sighed against his lips.
“Sam. Sam, you’re—you’re as good as drunk...”
“Stay,” she said softly, and looped her arms around his neck
“I cannot,” Demetrios said. “Sweetheart—”
She was asleep, still holding him, still with her breath sighing from her mouth to his. He stared at her for what seemed forever. Then he drew her arms from his neck, pulled back the duvet and got into bed beside her. She sighed, turned into his open arms and he gathered her close, careful not to touch her injured ankle, careful not to let his body betray him.
This is torture, he thought. It was worse. it was hell. He would get no sleep this night, but he would see to it that Samantha was safe. He would hold her, protect her, soothe her if she awakened again...
Demetrios sighed, closed his eyes, slipped his fingers under Sam’s silky hair and cupped the back of her head. She sighed, too, and snuggled against his shoulder.
It was the last thing he remembered before he fell into a deep, deep sleep.

 
 

 

ÚÑÖ ÇáÈæã ÕæÑ liilas676  
ÞÏíã 15-11-07, 11:37 PM   ÇáãÔÇÑßÉ ÑÞã: 14
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ßÇÊÈ ÇáãæÖæÚ : liilas676 ÇáãäÊÏì : ÇáÇÑÔíÝ
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Please don't stop now

 
 

 

ÚÑÖ ÇáÈæã ÕæÑ Mai Ziyada  
ÞÏíã 16-11-07, 02:32 AM   ÇáãÔÇÑßÉ ÑÞã: 15
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thanks dear habbobe.can you upload the three novels as books

 
 

 

ÚÑÖ ÇáÈæã ÕæÑ lailajilali8  
 

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ÑæÇíÇÊ ÃÌäÈíÉ ÑæãÇäÓíÉ, sandra marton
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